District of Colombia
by TimeTheFinalFrontier
Summary: Tuesday, August 12, 2064: The nations of Earth take up arms against one another and America must stand alone against the combined forces of a world at war.
1. Total Eclipse of the Sun

Eventual Pairings:

America/Japan

America/Lithuania

America/Russia

America/England

America/Spain/Italy

...

Another G8 meeting came and went. Alfred bounded up to Arthur, bouncing up and down in a way that reminded the older nation of a little puppy.

"Hey Iggy," Alfred said sweetly, keeping his voice in check. He knew the other nation hated it when he spoke too loud.

"Hello Alfred," Arthur replied, trying and failing to scowl.

Alfred smiled at the absence of Arthur's usual scowl. "So... What were you planning on doing after the meeting?"

Arthur bit his lip. Alfred was being so uncharacteristically courteous. He liked it. A lot. "I was thinking of going back to the hotel room and doing some paperwork. To prepare for tomorrow's meeting," Arthur said curtly, purposely failing to mention that they were sharing the hotel room in question. "You?"

"I was thinking of going out to lunch. A nice British place opened up a few weeks ago just a block away and I was thinking of trying it out. You know how much I love British food," he added in a low whisper.

Arthur blushed. One day, months ago, Alfred had confessed that he loved the other's cooking. Arthur hadn't believed him at first, but Alfred had proven it to him by making up for all of the time he lost pretending to hate Arthur's cooking.

Alfred broke Arthur's chain of thought as he started speaking once more. "Maybe you could come with me? Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Typical American, skiving off at every chance when there is work to be done," Arthur said, slipping his hand into Alfred's. He knew that the other knew him well enough to understand that he'd really meant to say, "Yes, Alfred, I'd love to."

"Alfred! Where are you taking me? Let go this instant!" Arthur protested halfheartedly as Alfred tightened his grip on his hand and started pulling him through the spinning door of the UN building. Alfred just laughed, the comment barely registering in his mind.

"No way, old man! I am treating you to lunch and that's final!"

...

Matthew smirked as he entered the café, walking up to the man at the cashier and slipping a piece of paper across the counter. The man's eyes widened and he nodded, bound by the nation's gaze.

Matthew looked around, quickly spotting his targets talking animatedly at a table in the corner. Striding over, he caught his brother's gaze and nodded.

"Matthew," Alfred called, beckoning him closer and smiling as he obliged. "Come sit with us," he offered, rising to retrieve a chair from another table.

Matthew looked towards Arthur, watching the other's brow furrow as he obviously tried to remember the other. "Hello," Arthur began, struggling past the place where a name should be, "it's not as if you're interrupting anything," he said in a passive-aggressive manner that reminded Matthew who he inherited some of his worse traits from.

"Thank you," Matthew said in a purposefully quiet voice, taking a seat when Alfred returned.

Alfred slung his arm over Matthew's shoulders, laughing as he pushed one of his numerous plates of food towards Matthew. "Hey, bro, we only ordered enough for two, but the hero needs to let his awesome brother have some of his awesome hero food!"

Matthew smiled weakly. "Thanks, Alfred, but I'm going to have to decline."

Alfred frowned for a moment, examining the other's features as if for signs of illness. In that moment, his attention became diverted when the rest of the costumers in the fairly crowded café rose nosily from their chairs and began to file out of the room. "Hey, Iggy, look, everyone's leaving," Alfred said obliviously.

Arthur rose as well. "Something's wrong," he said. His eyes widened as he looked down at Matthew as if seeing him for the first time. Matthew was unzipping his jacket, violet eyes peering into emerald ones, captivating, hypnotizing. Both could hear that Alfred was speaking but neither understood what was being said; in the next moment Alfred recoiled and Arthur fell back in his chair simultaneously, both a moment before Matthew pulled a handgun from the folds of his jacket.

"Brother," Matthew whispered, pressing the gun to Alfred's ribs, right above the place where his heart started to beat wildly. The air grew electrified around them, and Alfred's eyes shot over to Arthur, begging him to do something, anything. "I know how afraid you are of guns, brother dear."

Alfred whimpered, listening to the steady sound of Matthew's breathing and the wild, erratic pounding of blood through his eyes and the oppressive silence of the empty café. Matthew leaned over to press a kiss to Alfred's forehead and watched Alfred's gaze flick between his eyes and his lips. "M-Mathew, you're bleeding," Alfred choked.

Matthew shook his head gently and guided Alfred fingers up to his forehead. They came back wet. "It's started already," he whispered.

"W-what has?" He asked, eyes finding their way back to Arthur, who was looking on, tightlipped, impassive.

"Tuesday, August 12, 2064, 11:12 AM. Canada closes it border with the United States of America."

Alfred's eyes widened. "But," he protested weakly.

"Shh, brother, it's all right."

"N-no," Alfred said, looking back at Arthur, silently begging him to help.

"Why don't I let your big brother turned lover-friend tell you what's going to happen next?" Matthew asked, forcing Arthur to meet his gaze.

"Tuesday, August 12, 2061, 11:14 AM. Canada declares war with the United States of America," Arthur whispered, refusing to meet either's gaze. _You knew,_ he could almost hear Alfred saying accusingly.

"And so the world went to war," Matthew giggled.

"No, Canada, man, don't do this. I have allies, big and powerful nations that can crush you. Don't do this, man, it's suicide!" Alfred tried to say in a voice that reflected the strength of his country.

"Oh, Alfie," Matthew whispered, enjoying the way the other flinched at the nickname, "you stand alone."

Alfred hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he recognized the truth in the other's words. Things had started to fall apart sometime in the last century, after a war that seemed never to end, spiraling forever outward, haunting them, dancing between the years of the future like a specter.

"You're bleeding, brother," Matthew whispered, rising and brushing away imaginary dust. Alfred grunted in response and rested his head against the smooth glass of the tabletop, blood rushing through his body as he tried to grow used to the sharp, ragged edge his once comfortable, safe Northern border had become. Matthew smiled gently as he set the gun down beside Alfred's head and pulled Arthur up and out of his chair with one smooth motion. "Come along," he said to Arthur, ringing the bell on the door on his way out.

Alfred groped the table for a moment, searching for the gun. Grasping it, he righted it in his hand, and, finding the safety off, pressed it to his temple and fired, once, twice, thrice. Nothing came of the shots but hollow clicks. Alfred laughed bitterly, bringing his head up and slamming it back down on the table repeatedly until the sun began to go out somewhere over the earth, turning away as if in shame from the harsh, bitter shades of a world gone to war.


	2. Let Music Swell the Breeze

Late Disclaimer: I mean no copyright infringement or other form of harm to any entity. This is a work of fanfiction.

February 14, 2039:

America stood before the assembled nations of the UN, looking out over the rows of faces glaring back at him, tight-lipped and angry save for a select few. He tried to find Italy's happy, dazed face amongst the crowd of nations and began to speak as if he were talking only to Italy, sweet Italy, seemingly incapable of hatred. "I'd like to start this meeting by calling your attention to-"

A voice from his left cut him off. "Amérique, if you don't have anything useful to say, please allow someone more worthy of our time speak, non?"

"But I haven't even started!" America protested, indignant.

"We all know what you're going to say, aru!" China shouted from somewhere further down the line. "It's all 'hero-me' and how sorry you are for the ten hundred trillion dollars you owe me!"

"I wasn't going to-" America started, but was cut off once again.

"Bloody hell, America, will you listen for once in your life and sit down and shut up!" England said from the chair on his right, pulling him down despite America's sputtering protests.

"Iggy," he whined, genuine hurt seeping into his voice despite his best efforts to hide it. "I was talking."

"You were making a right arse of yourself is what you were doing," England grumbled.

"But, but, I was going to say something..."

"Something heroic, I presume," England said bitterly.

"Well, yeah! I was!"

"Shut up. No one likes you anyway. Stupid American git. You are anything but heroic."

"Agreed," Canada mumbled into his polar bear's fur on America's other side.

"I don't have to stay here and listen to you unawesome losers compensate for your unheroicness," America said, standing up loudly and gathering his papers angrily. He looked up to find all eyes on him and snarled. "Something to say?"

"Just that the world would be a lot awesomer without you," Prussia mumbled from behind Germany's chair.

"You're one to talk! What's less awesome than being an ex-country!"

Prussia stood up to his full height and smirked. "Being you."

America flushed and made his way to the door. Taunts and shouts of disapproval followed him out the door and down the hallway and stayed with him even as he ran away, out the doors and into the cool winter air of an unfamiliar city in a foreign country that probably resented him just as much as the others.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, lowering himself onto the curb of the desolate street. "I try so hard, and if I've failed... I'm sorry. I..." He trailed off and spared a glance at the cloudless sky. "I never wanted to have to be a hero."


	3. With Glowing Hearts We See Thee Rise

Tuesday, August 12, 2064:

"C-Canada, you can't," England stuttered, following Canada blindly out of the café.

"I didn't see you stopping me," Canada replied serenely.

"But, but, you're... You're Canada! Sweet little Canada!"

"Invisible Canada? _Innocent_ Canada? Passive-aggressive Canada? It's time to leave the passive to you, to you and the rest of the world, to whoever else wants it. This is war."

"But!"

Canada stopped and spun around. "Shut up!" He snarled and dug through his pockets, smirking as his fingers closed around his phone. "I can make this _so_ much worse for you and dear Alfred. So. Much. Worse."

"No! Canada, don't, please, please, don't, whatever you're going to do, don't do it!"

"Hmm... Let's see. Oh, contacts, that's _nice._ Hmm, Belarus, Belgium, British Colombia, British Prime Minster." Canada looked up into England's frantic eyes. "Mr. Bedford these days, is it? Hmm, where is that button? I must be getting old if I can't see the call button. Is it just me or is it getting dark in here? Oh, it is. Right! Eclipse today. Green light! There it is! Dialing," he said as he pressed the phone to his ear. He frowned and brought it away, pressing a button to put it on speaker before smirking and leaning against the nearest wall.

"Hello? I'm terribly busy, uh, whoever you are," a British voice began.

"Canada. Canada's the name. You might want to look into remembering that. I trust that you will prove to be our ally in the war?"

"The war... The war," Mr. Bedford muttered, as if attempting to remember something long-forgotten. "The war." His tone turned to ice. "I'm sorry, but the United Kingdom is the United State's greatest ally and we simply cannot-"

Canada cut him off. "Very well," he said, hanging up. England breathed a sigh of relief. "Not so fast, England. Speed dial 2. Wonder who that could be, don't you?" Canada laughed.

"Mathieu?" The usually smooth French drawl, grainy coming from the speakers of the phone, made England go pale.

"Francis! Green light's for go!"

"Excellent, mon cher."

"Adieu."

Canada smiled and snapped the phone closed. "10, 9, 8, 7, did I mention the ten thousand missiles I put in France across the English Channel, by any chance, 3, 2, 1..." The phone started to ring and vibrate and Canada let out another harsh laugh. "Hello? Canada here, Mr. Bedford."

"We're in!" Came the panicked voice. "Do whatever you want, just, please, don't bomb us!"

"You're such a weak little man, you know," Canada sighed before hanging up and redialing France's number. "He caved," he said in a bored tone.

"Oh, but mon cher, can't we bomb him anyway?"

"No, no, we want him on our side," Canada said, poking England, who had slid to the floor, with a booted toe. "Save your missiles for what's across the Atlantic, not La Manche."


End file.
